It Takes One to Divine One
by Golden Keyblade
Summary: When Shawn and Gus get sucked through a strange rift that opened up in the Psych office, they find themselves hired by an apparent witch. Now Shawn must take up the role of temporary Divinations teacher while attempting to find out who tried to kill the real Divinations teacher. Rated T for paranoia; part of the Omniverse Event.
1. Prologue

**It Takes One to Divine One**

 **A/N: This story is part of the Omniverse Event, a multi-writer crossover event which anyone can participate in. Details of the Event are on my profile if you want to find other stories or participate yourself.**

 **I've also started to introduce a new mechanic into Omniverse Event stories which will hopefully make them more enjoyable to read: official Omniverse Event playlists! The idea is that at certain points in the story, I will provide cues to open the playlist and play a specific song as background music. I am not by any means a musician, so most of the tracks will be repurposed songs which are pretty much unrelated aside from sounding good in those places. I'd like to emphasize that this is entirely optional; it's just a fun little bonus for people who want something to listen to while reading the story. If the idea is well-received, I may expand it into other TOE stories. That said, I hope you enjoy this project regardless. The link to this playlist is /playlist?list=PLPVdK3hB1q2U78ypD7SrLerLd83Z8hbO6; just add that to the end of the YouTube homepage URL (since FF refused to let me post the full link).**

* * *

 **A message to Command**

 _The worst-case scenario has indeed come to pass. Rifts are spreading across the universes faster than we imagined. Tell Home Base to dispatch all available agents at once._

 _The Omniverse Event is under way._

* * *

Prologue

The Headmaster's Office was in an uproar. Within the tall circular room, several people stood clustered around the desk. The small tables, which had once held intricate silvery instruments, were now piled high with books and stacks of papers. Most of the people in the room were teachers, but two students were also there: a second-year Hufflepuff girl with long blond hair and a pale complexion, and a muscular fourth-year Gryffindor boy with messy brown hair. The boy occasionally shot an angry look at the girl, who was crying quietly; the girl's right hand was wrapped in a white bandage.

Seated at the desk was Minerva McGonagall, former Transfigurations teacher and current headmistress. She looked to have been woken from a sound sleep and was trying her best to placate the terrified looking woman standing on the far side of the desk.

"Cassandra," McGonagall insisted, "you must calm down."

"Calm down?!" cried the woman, who indeed looked as if she were about to faint. "Headmistress, this is a matter of life and death! That girl right there tried to _kill_ me!"

"I swear, I didn't do it!" cried the little girl, tears streaming down her face.

"Liar!" shouted the boy. "I saw you attack the teacher! The whole class can vouch for it!"

"But I didn't!" sobbed the girl.

"Quiet, mister Greer!" shouted McGonagall; the boy instantly fell silent. "Miss Jones, no one is blaming you for what happened. Now please try to calm down and tell us what you remember."

The girl sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "I...I was just sitting in class listening to Professor Mills," she said, attempting to keep the words from coming out in a stammer. "I had been up all night working on my History of Magic report, and I just always feel so drowsy in that room. I tried my best to stay awake, really I did, but I just couldn't help it! The next thing I know I'm waking up on the carpet with a shard of broken glass in my hand and the whole class is running about, and Professor Mills was cowering in the corner saying I attacked her, but I know I couldn't have done it! Professor Mills is a wonderful teacher; I would never do anything to hurt her!"

"Very well," said McGonagall. "Now then, mister Greer, what did you see?"

"It was mental!" exclaimed the boy. "I was sitting on the cushion near Abigail, squinting into my crystal ball like Professor Mills said, and then suddenly I hear this sound of glass breaking. I look over and Abby's smashed her ball and grabbed a shard of it so hard blood starts dripping down onto the floor! She starts advancing on the professor, saying she was going to kill her! And then all of a sudden she just falls down and looks around all confused-like!"

"I'm telling you, I didn't do any of that!" protested the girl, Abby.

"There's a class full of kids who say otherwise!" shouted the boy.

"Enough!" exclaimed McGonagall; her voice had a way of instantly silencing an argument. "Miss Jones, is there anything else you know that might help us?"

For a moment the girl hesitated, as if debating whether or not to say something. "No, headmistress," she said finally. "Nothing else."

"Very well," said McGonagall. "Mister Filch, Professor Flitwick, please escort these students back to their common rooms."

Filch nodded, grabbed the boy by the arm, and led him forcefully down the spiral staircase which lead out of the office. Flitwick took Abby more gently by the shoulder and led her after the receding caretaker.

"There's something she's not telling us," said Professor Charleston. He was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, tall and lanky with a perpetually suspicious look as if he expected every person he encountered to be carrying a concealed weapon. "We should have questioned her further."

"The girl has clearly been through an ordeal," said McGonagall. "If some new evidence comes to light that reinforces the Greer boy's claims, we can always call her back in. Innocent until proven guilty; that's what Professor Dumbledore always believed."

"Innocent?!" exclaimed Charleston. "That girl attacked a teacher in front of the entire class; you don't think that's evidence enough?"

"I'm afraid I must admit that Charleston has a point," admitted Professor Slughorn, the Potions master and head of Slytherin house. "Perhaps it would be best for me to whip up a batch of Veritaserum, just so we could be absolutely certain..."

"We are _not_ using Veritaserum on a student without good reason," said McGonagall firmly. "If she says that she has no memory of the event, then I believe her. There is something else at work here, something...dark."

Professor Mills was working herself up again. She was about thirty years old, her naturally brown hair dyed a bright turquoise for the upcoming month of December. She was a successful palm reader who had come to Hogwarts three years agob after the last Divinations teacher had retired in a panic after claiming to have seen a death omen in her morning porridge.

"I tried to tell you!" she exclaimed. "Ever since term started I've noticed strange things going on around me! Shelves fall over as I walk up to them. My food at supper spoils on my plate. I had assumed they were pranks- the Divinations teacher always finds enemies among those without the Second Sight- but now I believe they may have been something more sinister." She suddenly gulped. "Headmistress," she whispered, "you don't think it could be... _him_ , do you? It couldn't possibly be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, could it?"

"Cassandra," said McGonagall, "the war ended seven years ago; we should all be perfectly comfortable calling him Voldemort."

A collective shudder ran through the room, although far less pronounced than it would have been a few years ago.

"In any event," said McGonagall, "I am quite certain that is not the case. Even if he were somehow alive, what could be gained by attacking you?"

"Then who could possibly have been behind it, if not the girl?" wondered Slughorn. "Someone using the Imperius Curse, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," said McGonagall, "but no student could have possibly used that curse. And if it wasn't a student, where would such a perpetrator hide in that room? And why would they target Cassandra to begin with?" She sighed. "No, I believe this is something very different, something we have never encountered before."

"Well, we can't just stand around and do nothing!" protested Charleston.

"And we won't," said McGonagall. "Cassandra, I strongly recommend that you take an extended leave of absence while we sort all this out."

Professor Mills nodded vigorously. "I always keep a trunk partially packed with supplies in case I need to travel in a hurry," she said. "I'm sure I can find lodging with my brother while you work out who is behind this."

"As for the rest of you," said McGonagall, "I want you all to carry on as if nothing has happened. You must not breathe a word of this outside of this office. If someone at Hogwarts is trying to get rid of Cassandra, we must make them believe that we are unaware of their plan. I will think on our next actions overnight and inform you all of what I have decided in this office tomorrow night. Until then, good evening to you all."

The other teachers all murmured "Good evening" and filed out of the room one at a time.

McGonagall sighed and leaned back in the high-backed chair. On the walls, the portraits for former Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses, who until now had been listening the conversation with baited breath, began talking excitedly amongst themselves.

McGonagall closed her eyes and tried to think of what to do next. She had sensed that Abigail Jones was telling the truth- no one could fake being so utterly distraught- but she could also sense that there was something she hadn't told them, something she knew or suspected about what had happened. But how could she prove it? She refused to try to compel the girl through force, but it seemed there was no other option to find the truth.

 _If only Dumbledore were here_ , she thought for the thousandth time in the last several years. _He would know precisely what to do._

But Dumbledore wasn't here. She was headmistress, and she had to decide on a course of action. Perhaps she should tell Slughorn to brew up that Veritaserum after all; she hated the idea, but it seemed there was no other way to clear the girl's name...was there?

 _Thunk!_

McGonagall started slightly at the noise. Turning to the right, she quickly saw the source: an owl had slammed into the closed window, apparently thinking it would be able to get inside. A letter was clutched in its talons, closed with a strange wax seal.

McGonagall opened the window and took the letter from the grasp of the disoriented owl and examined it; the owl, dazed from the crash, took off back into the night, not even waiting to be thanked or see if it had delivered the letter to the proper recipient. The envelope was made of plain white paper, rather than the slightly faded off-white of parchment; McGonagall vaguely recognized it as the kind of envelope Muggles used to send mail. But what Muggle would be sending a letter by owl post? The letter was sealed both with standard Muggle adhesive and with the aforementioned elaborate red wax seal, bearing a strange symbol that looked like a C and B superimposed with one another.

Curiously, McGonagall laid the letter down on the desk and opened it with her wand. She removed the letter; like the envelope it appeared to be Muggle stationery, written in elaborate cursive on blank white paper. As she read the contents of the letter, her puzzled frown deepened. At the bottom of the envelope there was no signature; on the line provided, the writer had simply written the same symbol used for the wax seal.

This was a very unusual development. The letter seemed to be describing the perfect solution to the problem at hand...but could she really trust the message? The writer clearly wanted to conceal his or her identity; why else would they fail to include a name, hiding behind a symbol? Perhaps it was the one behind the attack, attempting to lure her into a trap. On the other hand, if the message was true, she could not afford to pass up the opportunity.

She decided to risk it. She would travel to London tomorrow to follow up on the letter's claims. One of the other teachers could be left in charge for the day it would take to investigate the lead; Professor Quartus, the new Transfigurations teacher, had been eager to take on more responsibilities, and this would be an excellent test for him. She would have to think up some cover story; it was vital that no one knew of her true purpose. After all, if the girl really had been under the Imperius Curse, she couldn't rule out the possibility that one of the other teachers was also being controlled...or worse, was the true perpetrator of these attacks. No, it was far better that she undertake this mission alone.

 _Quite a bit of effort for what may be little more than a prank or a trap_ , she thought. _With all these precautions, this "Shawn Spencer" had better be worth the trip._

[Cue Track #1: "Psych Intro"]

* * *

 **A/N: So yeah, I did a thing again. Feel free to comment, favorite, and follow in no particular order if you want to.**

 **Also, this is set in a slightly alternate version of the** ** _Harry Potter_** **universe from the main one...maybe. I'll be honest, I'm not familiar with the "extended lore" of what happens after Book 7, and I don't much feel like looking it up. In this timeline, McGonagall became the new headmistress after book 7 and retains the position when this story takes place (about 7 years later). Also, this is set some time between Seasons 4 and 5 of** ** _Psych_** **, because that's what I'm caught up to. I know that's going to disappoint some people who want stories where Shawn and Juliet are together; to those people, my response is that I'm not very good at writing romantic dialogue, and it wouldn't make a very big impact on the story either way.**


	2. Chapter 1: Obese Lightning

Chapter 1: Obese Lightning

 _Meanwhile, in a parallel universe..._

It has been determined by many scientific studies that when a person is deprived of one sense, even temporarily, their other senses become more powerful as a means of compensation. This is why, for example, those born blind often have incredible hearing. Shawn Spencer was well aware of this phenomenon: whenever he needed to concentrate on a case, he would close his eyes to allow his mind to pick up any information he might have missed. This was what he was doing now: closing his eyes and allowing his other senses to take hold of the investigation.

No doubt about it. Something was definitely rotten here...and he had a good feeling he knew what.

"Gus!" he called, opening his eyes. "The milk's expired!"

Across the room, his partner Burton Guster (known as "Gus" to those who were familiar with him and practically anything else to those who weren't) looked up from his laptop. "No way!" he protested. "I checked the date; that milk's good for another two days!"

Shawn shook his head. "You know as well as I do not to trust the expiration dates," he said. "Weren't you talking just the other day about how there's no accountability for expiration date makers?"

"Fine," said Gus flatly. "Then it's your turn to go to the store and get more."

"Dude, can't I just borrow yours?" protested Shawn, closing the fridge and walking over towards Gus.

"No, you can't 'borrow' milk from me, Shawn!" Gus snapped.

"Oh come on, Gus!" protested Shawn. "You know how hard it is to carry groceries on a motorcycle?"

"I'm not driving all the way back to my house just 'cause you're too damn lazy to buy your own milk," said Gus, looking up from his laptop. "Besides, I know you drink from the carton, and I am NOT getting your germs!"

"That was _one time_ , Gus!" exclaimed Shawn. "Can't you let that go?"

"Not when it means contaminating my personal supply of milk," said Gus firmly.

"Okay, one drink from the carton is not going to 'contaminate' anything!" said Shawn. "People drank from the carton for hundreds of years, and they were just fine!"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "As usual, I'll be the one going to the store."

"See?" said Shawn. "This is why we make such a great team: because we know how to share responsibilities."

"We're not sharing anything!" exclaimed Gus. "You're making me do all the work! Again!"

"You know, Gus," said Shawn, "sometimes you can be a real glass half-broken kind of guy."

"It's 'glass half-empty', Shawn," said Gus.

Shawn shrugged. "I've heard it both ways."

Gus was about to respond. He was going to stand up to Shawn, he really was. He had a whole rant prepared about how he always ended up getting stuck doing all the jobs that Shawn didn't feel like doing, how he sometimes felt like nothing but the comic relief in this partnership. He was really going to stick up for himself this time.

So in light of this, it was perhaps unfortunate for Gus that the dimensional rift opened up in the Psych office just as he was about to say all this.

Without warning, the air in the middle of the office seemed to explode. Shawn and Gus were both flung against the back wall. Gus had been sitting at the computer, so he landed with his back against the wall. Shawn hit face-first, his head striking the wall and denting it rather badly.

He turned around to see what had happened...and his jaw dropped.

The...thing which had materialized in the middle of the office was unlike anything Shawn had ever seen. The best description he could come up with was that it was "like a morbidly obese bolt of lightning". The thing was a jagged column of energy about three feet across and extending from the floor to the ceiling. It twisted and danced across the floor, scorching the boards and otherwise violating the terms of the lease.

To his horror, Shawn suddenly realized that he and Gus, and indeed everything else in the office, were being sucked towards the rift. As he watched, papers flew off the desk into the column of light and vanished from view. Small objects around the room slid across the floor (or, in some cases, flew through the air), as if they had heard there was a crazy party going on inside the rift and wanted to get in on the action. With alarm, Shawn and Gus realized that they too were being sucked into the rift. In desperation they clung onto the wood of the desk, the only sturdy object within reach. They were both screaming at this point, though neither man's shouts could be heard over the crackling of the rift; most seemed to be variations of "OH MY GOD!" and "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?" and the old favorite "WHY, DEAR GOD, WHY?". One of them yelled out something that sounded suspiciously like "MOMMY!", but neither would ever learn who it was.

The longer they clung on, the stronger the suction force became. For a moment they hung on, their bodies pulled over the desk by the sheer power of the rift. Without warning a picture frame flew off the wall and smacked Gus in the forehead. It wasn't enough to knock him out, but it was just enough to loosen his grip. Shawn watched in horror as his best friend in the world lost his grip on the desk and began to fall backwards into the center of the room.

Shawn didn't know why he did what he did. All he knew was he had to try to do something to save his friend. He let go of the desk and awkwardly spun himself around in mid-air. His plan was to grab Gus by the hand, then latch onto the desk with his feet and pull himself and Gus back behind the desk. Hopefully the rift or whatever it was would exhaust itself in a few second, and then they would be safe.

Sadly, things didn't work out like that. Oh, the plan worked out just great on the "Grab Gus by the hand" part, but the rest sadly never got a chance to come to fruition. The instant Shawn's feet made contact with the desk, the entire thing tipped over. With nothing to hold on to, Shawn and Gus hurtled forward toward the beam.

Shawn's last thought: _I hope this doesn't hurt._

It did.


	3. Chapter 2: Out of Range

Chapter 2: Out of Range

"Shawn! Shawn! Wake up, Shawn!"

Shawn groggily opened his eyes. For a moment he was unsure of what had happened. Had he been drinking the previous night? His last clear memory was of being in the Psych office; maybe he'd been drinking there last night. No, he didn't feel hung over...

Everything came back to him at once. The column of light, the suction, lightning...and his last memory, of holding desperately onto Gus as the two of them tumbled into the energy stream.

Shawn pushed himself up onto one elbow, his eyes not yet quite taking in their surroundings. He had the vague impression of being on pavement; had the two of them been blasted out the front window? "Where are we?" he asked.

"Shawn," exclaimed Gus, "we're in London!"

That one got Shawn's attention. As the fog finally cleared from his eyes, he looked around. The sky overhead was a gloomy grey, even though it had been bright and sunny in the office. Gus was standing over him on a sidewalk that ran between a street and a park. The street was busy with cars, all of which seemed to be driving on the wrong side of the road; the park was full of trees and was closed off with a waist-high cast-iron fence.

Shawn clambered to his feet. "Well, that doesn't make sense," he said. "How can we be in London?"

"I don't know!" exclaimed Gus. "That's what I've been trying to find out! I woke up ten minutes ago; we were lying in the middle of the road, people were honking their horns at us. I couldn't wake you up, so I dragged you here."

"You dragged me?" asked Shawn. "Gus, I thought we were closer than that."

Gus decided not to respond to that. "I asked people where we were and what day it was. And guess what? According to everyone, not only are we in London, but it's about fifteen minutes after we left!"

Shawn shook his head. "That's not possible. We couldn't have gotten here that fast. Obviously this must be a different day…"

"I already thought of that, Shawn!" exclaimed Gus. "It's 4:45 on November 23rd, practically the same time and day we left!"

Shawn's mind was racing with possibilities. "Okay," he said. "This is obviously some sort of elaborate prank. All the people on this street are hired actors; either this street is a complex set and we're still in Santa Barbara, or it's actually in London and we've been drugged for the last day or so."

"Shawn, why would someone want to do something like that?" asked Gus.

"I don't know!" exclaimed Shawn. "As revenge for busting them, or their close family member? We've been in this business for a few years; we could have any number of enemies."

He felt his logical mind asserting itself. "First things first," he said. "We need to make a call, let people know where we are."

He quickly reached into a pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He turned it on and quickly dialed Juliet's number, making sure to include the Santa Barbara area code. He held the phone to his ear.

After three rings, the phone picked up. "Hello, you've reached Domino's Pizza," said a bored-sounding teenage guy on the other end. "Can I interest you in our new Extreme Sausage Pizza with…?"

Shawn had already hung up. He dialed the number again, making sure he had gotten all the numbers right. He even checked his contact just to be sure. Sure enough, there was Juliet's number. He carefully dialed again and held the phone to his ear.

This time the phone picked up after only two rings. "Hello, you've reached Domino's Pizza," said the same bored teenager. "Can I interest you in…?"

"What's going on?" snapped Shawn. "How did you get Juliet's phone?"

"I'm sorry sir," said the guy, "I think you must be mistaken. This is Domino's Pizza on Southeast Main Street and…"

"No, this is Juliet's number!" exclaimed Shawn. "I've had this number in my phone for years!"

"Sir, if you're not going to order something, I have to insist you hang up," said the guy.

Shawn hung up. He quickly dialed Lasseter's number, figuring that an unfriendly voice was better than nothing at all.

This time the phone didn't even ring. "We're sorry," said a polite female pre-recorded voice. "The number you have dialed is not in service at this time. Thank you!"

Shawn once again checked the number; once again, there was no mistake. "What's going on?" he exclaimed. "I've had these numbers in my phone for years! How can they be wrong?"

He dialed a new number; this one he knew for a fact would be right. It was the private number for the Chief, used only for business calls.

The phone rang twice, then picked up. "Santa Barbara Police Department," said a man's voice on the far end. "Who is this?"

"This is Shawn Spencer!" Shawn said, pleased to have finally gotten through to _someone_ from the department. "I need you to put me through to the Chief!"

"This is Chief Frederick Braddock," the man said. "Who are you, and how did you get my number?"

Shawn shook his head. He figured it was the acting chief; maybe Chief Vick was sick today? "This is Shawn Spencer!" he exclaimed. "Look, if I can't get through to the Chief, just put me through to Detective Juliet O'Hara or Detective Carlton Lassiter."

"We don't have anyone by that name here," said the man calling himself Chief Braddock.

"What, they're _both_ out sick?" asked Shawn, surprised. "I mean, Juliet I could understand, but Lassiter's never taken a sick day in his life! That's how half the station came down with the flu last August; Lassie caught it and refused to take the day off."

"No," said Chief Braddock, "I mean there is no detective of either name currently working here. As far as I know, there has never been a Juliet O'Hara or a Carlton Lassiter working for the Santa Barbara Police Department. Now you have three seconds to explain who you are or I'm hanging up this phone."

Shawn's brain was locking up. Nothing about what was going on made sense. They couldn't be in London at the same time they got sucked into the thing, but they were. There was no way the numbers in his phone could be wrong, but they were. There was no way Juliet and Lassie could have ceased to have ever existed, but that appeared to be what was going on.

"My name is Shawn Spencer!" Shawn exclaimed. "I'm the lead psychic for the SBPD, and I need to be put on with Chief Karen Vick!"

"I don't know who you are," said the man, "but I'm the only chief around here. And I can guarantee that the Santa Barbara Police Department does not employ some so-called psychic."

"Sir, please just check!" exclaimed Shawn. "My partner Burton Guster and I have worked with you guys for the last four years! My name is all over case files dating back to 2006! Just check the records!"

There was a sigh, and then the sound of computer keys being pressed. After almost a minute, the man spoke again.

"I don't know whether you're pranking me or if you're just crazy," said the man, "but there is no record of a Shawn Spencer ever working for our department. As a matter of fact, according to the computer, there is no record of anyone by the name of Shawn Spencer ever living in the Santa Barbara area. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to stop wasting my time and hung up."

He hung up, leaving Shawn to stare unblinkingly at the world which had suddenly stopped making sense.


	4. Chapter 3: The Witch is Not Familiar

Chapter 3: The Witch is Not Familiar

"It's Mr. Yin," said Shawn. "It has to be. We stopped him at the pier, and now he's after us for revenge."

It had been about twenty minutes since the man on the phone had dropped the bombshell that Shawn and Gus had apparently never existed. The two had moved to a nearby coffee shop and had convinced a businessman on his break to let them borrow his laptop. A quick internet search and various further phone calls revealed that not only had Lassiter and Juliet apparently vanished along with Shawn and Gus's past, but Shawn's dad and Gus's entire family along with them. They found no news articles related to their previous cases appeared, even though Shawn had long since memorized the URLs for a few particularly favorable articles. Strangely enough, the TV show _The Mentalist_ appeared never to have existed either; neither was sure what the significance of that was. The two had returned the man's laptop and were now sitting at a table by the window discussing possibilities.

"Shawn," said Gus, "Yin's a serial killer. His games involved killing people, not screwing with us for no reason like this! _Maybe_ Yang would have done this, but not Yin!"

"Okay, then it's someone else!" exclaimed Shawn. "Someone's stolen Juliet's phone, changed Lassiter's number, hacked the phone line to the Chief, and even now is controlling what websites we see. Whoever it is, they drugged us, put us on a plane to London, and set up everything around us; all these people are just actors. I mean, what other possibility could there be?"

"There's always _my_ theory," said Gus.

"Come on, Gus!" said Shawn.

"It makes sense, though!" protested Gus. "A weird rift thing appears in our office, sucks us in, and then next thing we know we're in London and we apparently never existed? We've clearly been transported to a parallel universe!"

"But that's ridiculous!" protested Shawn. "Even if parallel universes exist, rifts don't just open up randomly and transport people between them! There'd be records of things like that!"

"Actually, I was doing some research on this a while back," said Gus. "Turns out there's plenty of evidence of stuff like that. Case in point: Woolpit, the Middle Ages, right here in England. Two children with green-tinged skin, a boy and a girl, show up outside the village speaking a language no one recognizes and refusing to eat anything except raw beans. The boy dies, but the girl grows up and learns English. She later says that she came from a place called St. Martin, where the sun never shone and the world was full of green light; she also says she and her brother heard a loud sound just before appearing outside of the village. Doesn't that sound like what happened to us?"

"That," said Shawn, "sounds like a small village using a local legend to get tourists to fork over money for tours and merchandise."

"April 5, 1851," countered Gus. "A man named Jophar Vorin shows up in Germany, apparently with no idea how he got there. He speaks languages no one else understands, and claims to be from an area of the globe lying across the ocean from Europe."

"Gus," said Shawn, "all of these stories date back hundreds of years! If they happened at all, odds are they've been greatly exaggerated by locals wanting to drum up publicity!"

"Fine then," said Gus. "Tokyo, 1954. A strange man arrives at Haneda Airport in possession of a passport from a nation known as Taured. When asked to point to it on a globe, he panics when he finds Andorra in its place. The passport had been stamped at airports all around the world, including five years' worth from Tokyo...even though Haneda had only opened to international flights two years earlier."

Shawn rolled his eyes, but his heart wasn't in it. Even if he could easily dismiss the anecdotes, he was finding it harder and harder to deny Gus's general theory. After all, what was the alternative? That some pissed-off relative or revenge-seeking partner had managed to not only create the perfect cover, but also find dozens and dozens of actors good enough to fool an allegedly psychic detective? Just this once Shawn was finding it hard to deny the presence of something beyond his normal world.

"Okay," said Shawn. "Let's say I believe your theory for a second- and that's not to say I do. How would we go about getting back to our universe?" He could barely believe what he was saying.

"Well," said Gus, "if I'm right, the only way to get back home would be another rift. We'd probably need to find some sort of science guy who knows how to predict when a rift will open."

Shawn cringed inside. He couldn't believe that this was likely their best shot. "Okay," he said, "well, in the meantime, we need to figure out where we're going to stay. Ideally we need to find somewhere cheap; our credit cards won't work here, and I'm not carrying all that much cash. Remember, we have no social security, no passport, no one even knows our names."

"Shawn Spencer?"

Shawn's head whipped around so fast he was surprised he didn't break his neck. The cashier was standing at the counter; he seemed to be the one who had called Shawn's name. Shooting each other confused glances, Shawn and Gus stood and walked toward the counter.

"Uh...can I help you?" asked Shawn cautiously.

"Yeah," said the man. "That old lady at the door wants to speak with you." He gestured towards the doorway, in which stood the strangest woman Shawn and Gus had ever seen.

She looked to be around retirement age or somewhat older, with graying hair styled into a bun and an austere expression; her lips appeared to have been drawn on with a red pen. The strangest part about her was the way she was dressed: she wore dark green floor-length robes of the kind you might see worn by a well-to-do duchess on a historical drama about a late-nineteenth-century manor.

"She says she's with the 'S.B.P.D.'," the man said, taking time to annunciate each syllable. "No idea what that means, but that's what she said."

Shawn wanted to scream. Every time he started to sort the world out, the world turned upside-down. He'd thought he'd be getting a nice relaxing cup of coffee, but instead he and Gus had gotten sucked into some kind of weird rift. He tried to call for help, and he found that everyone and everything familiar had apparently disappeared. And just as he had finally wrapped his mind around the idea of being in a parallel universe, up popped this strange woman claiming to be with the police department, overturning what little understanding of the situation he had.

Shawn didn't like not knowing things. He shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Let's go see what she wants."

"Are you crazy, Shawn?!" snapped Gus. "A strange old lady in strange clothes in a parallel universe asks for a meeting? How can this be anything but a trap?"

"Gus," sighed Shawn, "don't be a small size cup of ice cream at Baskin Robbins."

He turned and headed towards the door. With an indignant sigh of frustration, Gus turned and followed him.

Shawn approached the woman, who was standing in the doorway. Behind her, a couple people were trying to get in but were apparently too afraid of angering her to try to push past.

"Hey," said Shawn, walking up to the woman. "Did you...need something, or...?"

"Follow me," the woman said simply. She turned and walked off, apparently headed somewhere. Shawn watched her for a moment, then followed; Gus shook his head in frustration and headed after him.

They walked across the street in silence. Shawn noted that the woman didn't quite seem familiar with how streets worked: for a moment she seemed ready to step out into the middle of traffic, but then she seemed to remember what she was doing, paused, looked both ways, and then walked briskly across the street. Shawn and Gus quickly ducked after her, ignoring the irate honking of car horns.

The group of three walked across to the park Shawn had noticed upon arrival. Heading through a gate in the black wrought-iron fence, the strange woman led Shawn and Gus to a pair of benches facing each other. She sat on one, then gestured for Shawn and Gus to sit down on the other. Reluctantly, they did so.

"You are Shawn Spencer?" the woman asked, finally breaking her silence. Her voice sounded more or less exactly the way Shawn had suspected it would: stern and brisk, as if she heavily suspected that Shawn had done something she did not approve of but couldn't prove it.

"Indeed," said Shawn. "I am Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. And this is my associate, Baskin Robbins."

Gus shot him a look, but quickly turned his gaze back to the woman.

The woman regarded Shawn with a deeply suspicious expression. "I find," said the woman, "that I tend to be an excellent judge of when someone is lying. Now tell me again: are you _really_ psychic?"

Shawn blinked. Sure, he'd met plenty of skeptics in the past; hell, hardly a day went by without Lassiter attributing all his success to luck. But there was something about this woman that made him nervous about crossing her. She wasn't just skeptical; she seemed personally suspicious.

"I understand it can be hard for some people to believe in abilities like mine," said Shawn, playing it as cool as ever, "but I assure you that they are one hundred percent genuine."

"Really, now," remarked the woman dryly.

"Is there a problem?" Shawn asked cautiously.

"I am rapidly considering that possibility," said the woman. "You see, you come to me with a very favorable recommendation, but at the moment I have no reason to trust you, especially in regards to such a serious matter. So I am sure you can understand my doubt that you are, in fact, a wizard."

"Well, that's because I'm not actually a _wizard_ ," said Shawn, who was having less and less success in figuring out what was going on. "I receive visions from the spirits and the astral plane; my gift cannot be used at will. There is no such thing as magic by the traditional definition."

The woman's lips curled into the smallest of smiles: the kind Chief Vick got whenever she secretly approved of the proceedings but couldn't show it on account of needing to remain professional. "I apologize, Mister Spencer," she said. "I didn't quite catch that last part; may you kindly repeat it?"

Shawn considered this then shrugged. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but at least in the popular sense, there is simply no such thing as..."

His voice trailed off. Normally Shawn couldn't be stopped in the middle of a thought by anything less than the arrival of an ice cream truck, but his priorities had suddenly shifted. Specifically, he was no focusing all his complete and undivided attention on the tabby cat sitting on the bench where the woman had been just moments earlier. Beside him, Gus was making high-pitched squeaking noises.

"...magic," Shawn finished weakly.

With a seamless blurring, the cat transformed back into the austere woman, who straightened her glasses as she looked at Shawn.

Shawn leaned over to Gus. "Gus," he said, "I'd like to apologize for not trusting your theory."

"Which one?"

"Right now, quite possibly all of them."

"Now then," said the woman, "I will ask you again- and bear in mind that you know have a general idea of how capable I undoubtedly am of finding out the truth- are you really psychic?"

Shawn was torn. On the one hand he was fighting against four years' worth of refusal to tell the truth about his abilities. On the other, what he had just seen overturned almost everything he had ever believed about the world. His entire mental schema was spinning on its axis. You could fake a dimensional rift. You could fake instant travel to a parallel universe version of London. You could not fake what he had just witnessed. _Besides_ , Shawn thought, _if we really are in another universe- and it's not like I have any reason to not believe that now- it's not like word of this is going to be back to the police_.

"No," said Shawn quietly. "No I am not."

The woman nodded, as if Shawn had confirmed something she had rather suspected.

"But," added Shawn quickly, "I'm not lying when I say that if you're looking for a detective, I am quite possibly the best in the business."

"Is that so?" the woman asked, looking as if she was preparing to leave.

Shawn forced his shattered mind back together. He knew that he was in a last-ditch situation and had to act quickly. He started looking the woman up and down, trying to pin down any piece of information that would tell him about her. He closed his eyes placed his hand to his head, as he had done for clients so many times.

"I know that you're a teacher," he said. "Your robes have traces of white dust, clearly from chalkboards; but most of the chalk is old stains from years ago, suggesting you don't do much lecturing with a blackboard anymore. Your hand looks to be cramping slightly, suggesting you've been promoted to an executive or administrative position and that you've recently been overworked. You also have a long, narrow object tucked into the pocket of your robes. Evidence gathered from this conversation suggests it to be a magic wand, but the display you have just given did not require the use of said wand, which indicates to me that at least some magic can be performed without the use of one."

The woman raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Go on," she said slowly.

"Your robes have a style that's at least a few hundred years old," said Shawn. "They have an almost medieval tone to them. That, combined with the fact that you led us out here into the park to have this conversation rather than speaking with us in the diner, suggests that magical individuals exist in a secluded community or communities that have changed little since the Middle Ages. But that leads to the question of why you've come to a couple of non-magical detectives with no potential references. Clearly it's not a murder; if it was, there'd most likely be some kind of wizard police that would get called in to investigate. No, it's more subtle than that. You think that someone has done something terrible or is going to do something terrible, but you can't prove it. What's worse, you don't know who it is and can't risk them finding out. So the only safe way to investigate is to go completely outside your whole society for answers."

He opened his eyes. "That," he said, "was what I took away from just seeing you for a few minutes."

The woman looked genuinely impressed. "Very well," she said. "Perhaps we can work together after all."

She straightened herself up even more as she began to speak. "My name," she said, "is Professor Minerva McGonagall. I am the headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the largest school of magic in Europe. I have reason to believe that our Divinations teacher, Cassandra Mills, is in mortal peril. Yesterday afternoon, an attempt was made on her life by one of the students. However, upon being questioned about it, the student expressed no knowledge of ever performing such actions. I believe her, but I do not know who is really to blame. I fear that someone at Hogwarts may be orchestrating these events, but have no idea who to trust."

"But...if everyone saw her do it but she can't remember, that sounds like a magic thing," said Gus, finally finding an adequate foothold in the conversation as it gradually turned to somewhat more practical matters. "And I'm afraid my partner and I really don't know much about real magic."

"I understand that," said McGonagall. "However, Hogwarts has an extensive library, containing plenty of books on all kinds of magic; I am certain that any information you could require can be found there. I would also be willing to provide you with whatever assistance you require in order to complete your investigation. Of course, Muggles- people without magic- are normally incapable of entry into Hogwarts, but exceptions can be made if the headmistress rules it necessary."

Shawn shook his head to clear it, still not quite able to process what was going on. "There's one thing I don't get," he said. "You said you were associated with the S.B.P.D. What connection do you have to them?"

"None whatsoever," said McGonagall. "In fact, I have absolutely no idea what 'S.B.P.D.' means."

"Then how did you know to say you were with them?" asked Shawn in confusion.

In response, McGonagall reached into her robes and drew out a piece of paper. "This letter arrived at Hogwarts late last night," she said. She handed the letter to Shawn, who took it and read it.

 _Dear Professor McGonagall_ ,

 _You don't know me, but I'm someone who's extremely interested in affairs at Hogwarts. And I happen to know that some extremely worrying events took place during Divinations class today. Luckily, I happen to have the solution: a psychic detective named Shawn Spencer and his partner Baskin Robbins. They have an excellent track record, and I know for a fact they will be able to provide the answers you need. Just tell him you're with the S.B.P.D.; that should convince him to listen to you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to tie this letter to this owl before it pecks my face off. May destiny's will be swift and just._

 _Sincerely,_

The letter had no signature; instead, there was simply a symbol that resembled an overlapping C and B.

"I do not know who the letter comes from," said McGonagall before Shawn could ask. "Perhaps you might be able to shed some light on the situation."

"I have no idea who this C.B. person is," said Shawn, handing the letter back.

"Or B.C.," Gus pointed out, having read the letter over the shoulder.

"You see," said Shawn, "my friend and I are out of our depth in more ways than one."

"Oh?" mused McGonagall.

Shawn explained the entire story. He told how he had been forced to disguise his deductive talent as psychic abilities in order to avoid conviction, and how he and Gus had spun it into a successful detective agency. He briefly talked about some of the more significant cases they had pursued, Gus occasionally stepping in to correct Shawn's frequently exaggerated accounts, or sometimes to make them more exaggerated when they involved his personal feats. Finally, Shawn told McGonagall about the rift that had appeared in the Psych office, about waking up in London with no history and no contact from anyone they had ever known, and finally about how they had gone to the coffee shop where McGonagall had found them.

"And that about catches us up to the present," said Shawn. "I have no earthly idea who this C.B.-"

"Or B.C.," interjected Gus.

"...could possibly be, or how they could have found us," said Shawn.

McGonagall studied them carefully. "I can tell that you are telling the truth," she said. "Or at least that you believe you are. Dumbledore always believed that there were such other worlds, but something like this...it's utterly unheard of in the wizarding world."

"It's unknown in the Muggle world too," Shawn said. "As a side note, I should point out that this means we have nowhere to stay tonight."

"Very well," said McGonagall. "I will secure you a room in the Leaky Cauldron for the night. Tomorrow I will meet you at King's Cross Station for our journey to Hogwarts."

"Um...the Leaky Cauldron?" asked Shawn, not sure what that was.

"Follow me," said McGonagall, rising from the bench.

Shawn looked over at Gus, who gave him a weak shrug. The two rose and followed after the witch.

The group walked for about half an hour. During this time, the sun gradually began to set. The crowds were just starting to thin as the three reached a corner much like any other.

"We're here," said McGonagall, coming to a halt.

Gus looked around in confusion. "I don't see anything here," he protested.

Shawn was about to say that he agreed, but he noticed that something was off. Something about the space between two of the shops didn't seem to be quite right. A crack on the sidewalk stopped in an irregular place; a spot of mold on the wall repeated a foot higher, exactly the same; the metal of one storefront didn't seem to fit neatly into the brick of the other. The divide itself seemed somehow... wrong.

And suddenly it wasn't there. In its place was a plain metal door, curved outward like the edge of a cylinder. The entire building it was attached to appeared to have sprung out of nowhere. Over the door hung a rough wooden sign engraved with the words "The Leaky Cauldron".

"The door's right here," said Shawn. "It's just...hidden, I guess."

McGonagall once again looked vaguely impressed. "Interesting," she mused. "Very few Muggles can see the entrance without assistance."

"Wait, I'm still confused," said Gus. "Where's this door you're talking about."

McGonagall reached out and pushed the door open. Gus suddenly leapt backwards, as if the door had suddenly appeared out of nowhere...which, from his perspective, may well have been the case. The three filed inside, only one of them knowing what they would find inside.

What they found was a cozy English pub, filled with the strangest assortment of people Shawn had ever seen. There were people wearing robes of every color of the rainbow; they were drinking, chatting, or showing off bizarre items that Shawn decided he'd rather not think too hard about for fear of damaging his sanity even more.

McGonagall strode over to the bar and started talking to the man behind the counter. After several moments of discussion, the man nodded and walked to retrieve a set of keys from the back wall. McGonagall turned back to Shawn and Gus.

"This man will escort you to your rooms for the night," she said. "I will see you at precisely eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Do not be late."

And with that, she turned and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron. The door closed behind her with a solid _thunk_.

"Shawn," said Gus quietly, "was she..."

"...a witch?" finished Shawn. "Yes, I very much think she was.

"And," added Gus, looking around, " are we currently in a..."

"...wizard bar?" finished Shawn. "That seems likely."

"Right," said Gus. "Just checking."

[Cue Track #2: "Liquid Unison- Requiem for the New Era"]

The man behind the bar led Shawn and Gus up a flight of stairs to a hallway that looked like it had been built as part of a medieval tavern- which, considering their current surroundings, was probably exactly the case. The man gave Shawn and Gus a pair of keys, directed them to next-door rooms, and walked away without saying a word.

"Well," said Shawn, "what now?"

"I don't know about you," said Gus, "but I'd rather just fall asleep and hope that things are better in the morning."

Shawn shrugged. "Worth a shot," he said.

The two headed into their rooms.

Inside, Shawn was surprised to find the room at least somewhat comfortable. There was a bed with a mattress that was only slightly worn, a mirror with relatively few cracks, and hardly a spider to be seen aside from the three near the dresser. A window overlooked the London street outside; people rushed to and fro, never knowing that there was another, impossible world just a few steps away.

Shawn flopped down on the bed; it was somewhat lumpy, but he didn't mind. He was still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened. At the start of the day, he had been planning to relax around the office, watch some movies with Gus, and then maybe head in to the police department to see if Chief Vick had any cases for them. Instead, he and Gus had gotten sucked into a parallel universe where magic apparently existed, and now they were getting an overnight stay at some secret enchanted tavern with an invisible door before going off to solve a crime at a wizard school. Even if they were able to solve a mystery involving an entire segment of reality he hadn't known existed, there was no guarantee he would ever see his friends or family- or Juliet- again.

Juliet...

He sighed. Maybe Gus was right, and the best course of action was to sleep on it all. He flopped back down. "Good night," he said to no one in particular.

"Good night," replied a voice in the direction of the mirror.

Shawn sat bolt upright. Looking at the mirror, he saw no one but his own panicked reflection. Cautiously he lowered himself back to the bed.

It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

* * *

 **A/N: And thus the release section of** ** _It Takes One to Divine One_** **draws to a close! Yeah, it's not** ** _Yu-Gi-Oh! ΔX_** **in terms of launch content, but considering I've been working on this story for less than three months as opposed to the almost-full-year of** ** _ΔX_** **, and considering the longer nature of that story's chapters, I'm still proud of what I came out with. Plus, homework this last month has been** ** _hell_** **.**

 **Yes, I know Shawn's monologue in this chapter was more** ** _Sherlock_** **than** ** _Psych_** **, but be fair: Shawn's whole world had just turned upside-down twice in one day and somehow failed to produce a recognizable picture, and the only person who seems to know what's going on is on the edge of walking away. Of course he'd try to make as much of an impact as possible.**

 **In other news, apparently The Omniverse Event now has a TVTropes page! I can't tell you how thrilled I am by this development! Massive shout-out to whoever it was who made it.**


	5. Chapter 4: Insert Train Pun Here

Chapter 4: Insert Train Pun Here

 **A/N: I decided the soundtrack thing wasn't working, and have dispensed with it. If people want it back, I'll bring it back; otherwise, I'll just stick with actually publishing chapters.**

* * *

Morning, for Shawn Spencer, was interesting.

He awoke to the sound of someone hammering on his door. Opening his eyes, he saw that the condition of the room had not visibly improved since going to sleep. A fourth spider had joined the other three in the corner, introducing radical new ideas on web design to the group, but that was the only noticeable difference.

"Alright, alright, I'm up!" he called. He climbed out of bed- noticing as he did so that he was still wearing the same set of clothes from the day before- and walked over to the door. He opened it to find McGonagall standing there.

"Come, Mister Spencer," she said in her typical concise manner. "The Hogwarts Express leaves in half an hour and I do not wish to be late."

She turned and walked away. Gus followed her, apparently having been woken up in similar fashion moments ago. Shawn shrugged and followed.

Within ten minutes, Shawn had realized something that visitors to London often learn: navigating through London is difficult at the best of times, especially when you are an American who has never visited the city before and _especially_ when you are being led to your destination by an elderly witch who appears to have little concrete idea how Muggle transportation works. McGonagall had to ask Gus to interpret the bus schedule, was apparently unfamiliar with the concept of street signs, and at one point attempted to pay for bus fare with large gold coins that made both Shawn's and the driver's eyes widen. Ultimately they made it to King's Cross Station with just a couple minutes to spare.

"Alright," said Shawn. "So what are we looking for?"

"Platform 9¾," said McGonagall. "That's where we will board the Hogwarts Express; it will make the rest of our journey considerably easier."

Gus blinked in confusion. "How can there be a Platform 9¾?" he asked.

"Gus," Shawn reminded his partner with an air of patience, "this is England. They use the metric system here."

"That doesn't make sense, Shawn!" protested Gus.

"Of course it doesn't; it's the metric system."

The three stopped at a large brick barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. McGonagall turned to the other two and gestured towards the barrier. When Shawn and Gus simply gave her blank looks, she explained. "You have to run through the barrier."

Shawn and Gus exchanged looks.

Gus spoke first. "I don't feel entirely comfortable with that."

"It's the entrance to the platform," said McGonagall with a sigh. "It's normally enchanted to keep Muggles out, but we have made an exception for the two of you."

The two looked at each other, apparently having a mental argument. Then they quickly began to have a whispered argument. Finally, Gus sighed and stepped forward.

"Shawn," he said, "if I break anything crashing into the barrier, I fully reserve the right to tie you down and give you the exact same injuries."

"You know you could never take me," said Shawn.

Gus looked like he had a retort, but McGonagall made a loud coughing noise that made it clear she would be taking no more of this. Reluctantly Gus turned toward the barrier, walked forward…and disappeared straight through.

Shawn did a double-take. He quickly jogged up to the barrier and waved his arm through it. The barrier's material seemed to part like smoke as his hand passed through, reforming flawlessly as he moved it. Cautiously Shawn stepped forward, passing through the barrier…

…and into a completely different place.

It was still a train station, but the train was very different from the ones outside. It was an old-fashioned locomotive that had been painted a rich crimson; a coat of arms bearing a griffon, a snake, a badger, and a raven was emblazoned on one side. Gus was staring open-mouthed at the whole spectacle;

"Come along," said McGonagall, passing through the barrier behind them. She headed off towards the steps leading up onto the train; after exchanging a look, Shawn and Gus followed her.

The inside of the train was surprisingly normal. Neither of them had ridden a British train, but this one looked more or less like they assumed most of them- or at least the nice ones- would look like. There wasn't any obvious sign that magic was involved in any apparent way (though Shawn had always liked to think that trains were a kind of magic in and of themselves).

McGonagall chose a compartment near the entryway, sliding open the glass-and-wood door and seating herself on one of the bench seats. Shawn and Gus followed her lead, sitting down across from her.

Apparently their boarding was what the conductor had been waiting for, as moments after they took their seats, the train lurched into motion. As Shawn looked out the window, the train slowly slid out of the station, passing from the dark brick tunnel to the slightly less dark city of London. Shawn noticed that no one on the street seemed to pay any attention to the train, or indeed to the mysterious new railway which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere; he figured it was more of the magic with which the Leaky Cauldron door had been disguised.

"The trip will take several hours," said McGonagall. With that, she lapsed into silence, clearly unhappy about the state of affairs in general.

It was about thirty minutes before anyone spoke. Outside, the scenery gradually transitioned from dreary city to attractive countryside as the train traveled farther and farther from Muggle civilization. Shawn found himself wondering what they would find when they reached their destination. What would a school entirely for wizards look like? He had managed to make some inferences from McGonagall, but by and large he was heading into unexplored territory. That was something he very much didn't like; in the detective business, going in unprepared was liable to get you in very big trouble.

To Shawn's surprise, it was Gus who ultimately broke the silence."So what's the plan?" he asked. "You know, to catch whoever mind-controlled that girl or whatever they did?"

"I have been considering that," said McGonagall. "There is currently a vacancy for the post of Divinations teacher, as the previous teacher- Cassandra Mills, the target of the attack- has decided to take a leave of absence while we search for the culprit. You, Mr. Spencer, will thus be serving as temporary Divinations professor in her absence."

"Wizard teacher, huh?" Shawn mused. "So do I have, like, a curriculum to follow or…?"

"Cassandra left behind her notes on which sections of the textbook she intended to teach over the next few weeks," said McGonagall. "I am certain they will provide more than enough instruction for you." There was a certain tightness to her voice.

"I take it from your tone that you don't have a very high opinion of the Divinations teacher," noted Shawn.

"Cassandra is a lovely woman," said McGonagall. "I simply don't much care for her subject. Divination is an extremely imprecise branch of magic; only a few have any knack for it at all, and almost none can produce any sort of reliable prediction."

In the back of his mind, Shawn noted that it should probably have been weird that they were so casually discussing branches of magic. But considering that they were already in a parallel universe, he figured that they should start redefining their definition of "normal".

"What class do you teach?" asked Shawn.

"Since I became headmistress, I haven't had much time to teach classes of my own," said McGonagall. "However, prior to that, I spent several years teaching Transfigurations class."

"Sounds interesting," said Shawn. "Back in Santa Barbara, I was actually working on something of a transfiguration project of my own. I was attempting to find a way to convert dolphin tears into champagne."

"Shawn, that was something you made up to impress a girl on the bus," said Gus flatly. "You know full well it was crazy."

"Indeed," said Shawn somberly. "For one thing, it's almost impossible to get a dolphin to cry. Believe me, those bastards are some of the most stoic creatures in the animal kingdom. I once showed one three back-to-back movie adaptations of Shakespearean tragedies and that one really sad episode of _Futurama_ ; it didn't even flinch."

McGonagall gave the two a look; it was hard to distinguish from her normal look, but Shawn would have hazarded a guess that it conveyed suspicion with a hearty side helping of disappointment, as well as trace amounts of astonishment that this was her best option for solving the case.

The next several hours of the train ride passed without much incident. Shawn asked as many questions as he could think of about the wizarding world; initially McGonagall was reluctant to open up to a Muggle, but she soon realized that Shawn would work better if he had some information about what he was dealing with. Shawn instantly memorized the details and managed to extrapolate several others on his own; Gus nodded along, occasionally taking notes on important things.

By the time the train began to pull to a stop, the sun had set over the English countryside. Looking out the window, Shawn saw that they were in the middle of what looked to be a dense forest. Snow covered the tops of the trees, glittering in the evening light.

The train finally reached a stop. McGonagall stood up. "Follow me," she said simply, turning and walking out of the compartment.

"She seems to say that a lot," remarked Gus. Shawn shrugged his agreement, and the two followed the witch out of the compartment.

Heading down the corridor, they climbed down the stairs to a large open-air brick platform in the middle of the forest. Shawn had never been to a train station in the English countryside, but he imagined this didn't look too different from what an average one might look like. Two roads led off from the platform; based on the signs, one led to the village of Hogsmeade and the other one led to the school.

McGonagall led the two detectives down the latter path, which led into the forest. They hadn't been walking for more than a minute when they came across something that officially confirmed that this was indeed an exclusively magical thing.

Waiting in a clearing was a horse-drawn carriage… or rather, a carriage that should have been drawn by horses. What was instead pulling the carriage was the stuff of nightmares. They looked vaguely like horses in the same way that a rabid wolf looks vaguely like a golden retriever: the general shape may be there, but in all other respects the comparison is worthless and attempting to press it will probably get you mauled. The creatures were practically skeletons with leathery black flesh stretched over them; a thin layer of fur covered the flesh, and bat wings protruded from their backs.

Shawn stopped dead in his tracks. "Uh," he said, "are we just gonna gloss right over the zombie horses?"

McGonagall turned and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Forgive me," she said. "I was unaware you could see them; thestrals are invisible to all but those who have seen death."

"I'm a detective; I've seen my fair share of death," said Shawn. "And while I admit they did give me a bit of what the young people might call a 'jump scare', I admit it is an impressive defense mechanism. What do you think, Gus?"

Upon receiving no answer, he blinked. "Gus?" he asked, turning to the side.

When he didn't find Gus to his side, he turned further. Gus was sprinting back down the path as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Gus!" Shawn called. "Come on, the zombie horses aren't gonna eat you!"

He sighed and turned back to McGonagall. "I'll go get him," he said.

* * *

 **A/N: I was planning to go a little bit further, but I think this is good for now. Chapter 5 should hopefully be out soon, and then we can buckle down to solving the mystery. Although I've already given you a fair amount of clues so far…**

 **By the way, I'd just like to confirm (more for my benefit than yours) that** _ **Yu-Gi-Oh! ΔX**_ **Chapter 7 will be out before the end of the month, and my new story,** _ **Duelist Foundation**_ **, will launch on March 14th. Until then!**

 **EDIT: This chapter has been edited to fix some missing paragraphs. I swear to god I already did that, but apparently this godforsaken website didn't save the changes. Or maybe I just forgot to add it. 50/50.**


	6. Chapter 5: Office Away from Office

Chapter 5: Office Away from Office

After ten heated minutes of arguing, Shawn finally convinced Gus that the thestrals were not hungry for his flesh (McGonagall's comment halfway through about them having "already been fed earlier today" did not, in fact, help). Having finally overcome the first major roadblock in the investigation, the three adults piled into the carriage, which began to trundle down the path through the woods. The snow on the ground and the trees was fresh, crisp, and white; it was exactly the kind of winter Gus had always wanted to spend with his family, and the kind Shawn had always wanted to spend with literally anyone other than his father.

Time passed slowly. Occasionally Shawn thought he saw something stirring in the woods; he looked over, expecting or perhaps hoping to see some of the magical creatures McGonagall had said roamed the forest, but there was nothing of the sort.

After just a few minutes of travel, McGonagall pointed off over the treeline. "We're here," she said.

Gus gasped in awe. Shawn managed to avoid doing the same but was nevertheless impressed. Looming over the forest was a massive stone castle, several stories high, with towers stretching into the cloudy sky above. As they drew closer, the sheer immensity of the school overwhelmed them; it was more like a fortress than a place where children would be sent to learn lessons, even magical ones.

The carriage pulled to a stop at a pair of immense wooden doors of the castle. McGonagall disembarked, beckoning Shawn and Gus to do the same. "Come along," she said. "We must go to the Great Hall; the feast will begin in a few minutes, and I intend to announce your presence there. Besides, I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast."

"How come _she_ got breakfast?" grumbled Gus, though he made sure it was quiet enough that McGonagall couldn't hear him over the wind.

The two detectives climbed down from the carriage and followed McGonagall to the vast front doors. The woman reached into her robes and drew out a slim wooden stick, presumably her wand. She gave it a flick in the direction of the doors; apparently in response, the doors opened just enough for the three to slip through.

Inside, the castle was even more spectacular. The Entrance Hall, as they would soon find it was called, was several meters high, with swept stone floors, stained glass windows, and a wide staircase leading to higher levels. Four immense hourglasses stood against the wall they had just passed through; Shawn figured these were for calculating the points of the four houses; McGonagall had explained the different houses and the point system to him on the train.

"This way," said McGonagall, leading them towards the east wall of the room. Shawn nudged Gus, who was still gazing at the scenery, and led them to another pair of double doors, slightly smaller than the previous ones. Opening these with another wave of her wand, she stepped through, followed by the two detectives.

In contrast to the largely empty Entrance Hall, the Great Hall was positively packed with people. Hundreds of students, their ages ranging from 11 to 17 or so, sat at four long tables; they all wore long black robes which differed only by the color of their trim. At the far end of the room was a fifth table, perpendicular to the other four; at this one were seated a bizarre variety of adults, whom Shawn presumed were the teachers.

The most spectacular thing, however, was the hall itself. Thousands of lit candles floated over the entire scene, providing illumination. As Shawn looked up to see if the candles went all the way up to the ceiling, he almost fell over: the room didn't _have_ a ceiling. Instead, the hall displayed an almost holographic image of the sky outside. Sparse clouds drifted across the sky, occasionally obscuring the brilliant moon.

McGonagall led them to this table, where a pair of empty chairs stood waiting for them. Shawn took the leftmost seat, placing him next to a short, portly man who gave him a good-natured smile. Gus took the seat on the right, putting him next to a tall man who gave him a suspicious look, as if he expected Gus to be carrying a concealed weapon. Gus tried his best to look indignant at the suggestion before opting to just ignore the suspicious man.

McGonagall sat down, took her spoon, and tapped it against her drinking glass; the sound somehow carried through the crowded Great Hall. The murmur of the students immediately fell silent, listening to what she had to say. McGonagall stood up, making Shawn wonder why she bothered sitting down in the first place.

"Before the feast begins, I have a few brief announcements to make," said McGonagall. "Over the next few weeks, we will be experiencing some temporary changes in staff. Our Divinations teacher, Cassandra Bennett, has decided to take a leave of absence in order to care for her ailing mother."

This news was met with some vaguely sympathetic noises, though Shawn noticed some mocking cheers, especially from the direction of the Slytherin table. He tried to see who specifically had been cheering- after all, never to early to compile a suspect list- but there were too many people in the way.

McGonagall cleared her throat and continued. "We expect Cassandra to return in a few weeks' time," she said. "In the meantime, the post of temporary Divinations teacher will be held by Mister Shawn Spencer, a noted American wizard who comes to us with the highest of recommendations. Mister Spencer will be taking over all of Cassandra's classes, and classes will continue to be held in the Divinations tower.

"I would also like to announce a second temporary addition to staff: Mister Baskin Robbins, a close personal friend of Mister Spencer. Mister Robbins will be acting as assistant groundskeeper and caretaker, aiding Professor Hagrid and Mister Filch in their day-to-day tasks."

" _What?_ " Gus whispered to Shawn. "We never agreed to that!"

"Actually, I did," said Shawn. "You were out of the room and we couldn't afford to wait for you."

"Shawn, we've been together all day!" exclaimed Gus, still whispering as McGonagall kept talking. "When did you have alone time with her?"

"You were using the bathroom on the train," explained Shawn.

"I was out of the compartment for ninety-six seconds!" protested Gus.

"Okay," said Shawn, "first of all, it's scary that you keep track of how long it takes you to pee. And second, how else were we supposed to explain your presence here?"

Gus looked like he was trying to find a retort, but at this point the conversation was abruptly silenced by a look from McGonagall.

"Now then," declared the headmistress, "with that out of the way, let the feast…begin!"

Instantly the empty trays and plates in front of the students and teachers filled up with every kind of food imaginable. Shawn had to keep himself from leaping backwards in surprise, and Gus just barely avoided falling out of his chair. However, everyone else seemed to find this a pretty normal occurrence: the other teachers and the students immediately began helping themselves to food.

For a moment Shawn and Gus weren't sure what to do. Then they remembered that neither of them had had anything to eat for over 36 hours and unanimously decided "Screw it." They quickly dug in: Shawn piled his plate high with mashed potatoes, while Gus began moving plates around attempting to get a more well-balanced meal.

"You certainly seem fond of those mashed potatoes," remarked the man to Shawn's left.

Shawn looked over. "Ah, yes," he said. "It's actually something of an experiment I'm running: the effects on spellcasting capabilities of a diet consisting entirely of mashed potatoes." He held out his hand. "Shawn Spencer," he said. "Nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you too!" exclaimed the man, shaking Shawn's hand with rather more force than the detective had been expecting. "Horace Slughorn, head of Slytherin house! I must say, what exactly was it you did back in America? I'm afraid I haven't heard of you."

"I'm actually a noted psychic," said Shawn; he decided that the "detective" part of "psychic detective" might raise some eyebrows, especially if secrecy was as key as McGonagall had suggested. "I operate mostly out of the California area, which is probably why you hadn't heard of me."

"Interesting," mused Slughorn. "Well, we certainly must get together to discuss your experiences before your departure; I daresay I could stand to learn a thing or two about the modern magical communities of the western United States."

On the other side of Shawn, Gus was trying his best not to do anything that would further intensify the glare he was getting from the man next to him. Shawn looked over and saw his partner's predicament.

"Who's that guy?" he asked, pointing to the man.

"Oh, that's Professor Charleston, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher," said Slughorn. "Tell your friend not to worry; he looks at everyone like that, regardless of how long he's known them. Now, if he starts getting friendly with you, _that's_ when you should be worried."

Shawn passed this information along to Gus, who was not comforted much.

After what felt like only a few minutes but which was probably closer to an hour, the feast ended and most of the students filed out of the hall. The teachers began to leave as well, until eventually it was just Shawn, Gus, and McGonagall. Shawn and Gus were still eating; McGonagall was waiting for them to finish.

At last Shawn's fourth helping of mashed potatoes was finished, and McGonagall stood up. "Come, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Robbins," she said. "I'll show you to your room."

The room, as it turned out, was at the very top of one of the castle's towers. The journey there was largely uneventful, aside from the eight or so times Shawn and Gus saw things that would until yesterday have utterly shattered their world views, including pictures where the figures moved and even called out to the three as they passed; staircases that moved between multiple destinations; and, at one point, the ghost of a man in a large ruffled collar who floated straight through Gus, causing him to scream for the next thirty continuous seconds until the ghost himself returned and politely asked him to stop.

After about twenty minutes, they reached what McGonagall referred to as the Divinations Tower. The entrance to the classroom, beyond which the bedroom would be located, could only be accessed by climbing a ladder up through a trapdoor in the ceiling. Shawn climbed up first, followed by Gus, with McGonagall bringing up the rear.

The inside of the Divinations classroom was…not what Shawn had expected. The room was stuffy, with a fire burning low in the grate. There were no desks or wooden chairs; instead, there were an array of pillows and cushions loosely clustered around low tables, some of which bore crystal balls that had apparently been abandoned when class was hastily cancelled a couple days ago. The heavy curtains drawn over the windows gave the place a cozy feeling.

McGonagall pointed to a door set into one wall, up a short flight of stairs. "Your office is upstairs," she said. "The house elves have provided you two with an extra set of bedding for your stay. Mr. Robbins, Mr. Filch will be expecting you in the Great Hall at 8 A.M. sharp. Mr. Spencer, your first class is two hours afterwards at 10 A.M. Do you have any questions?"

Shawn was about to ask what a house elf was, but decided it would only worry him. "No, ma'am," he said. "We'll be sure to be ready."

McGonagall nodded and climbed down the ladder. For the first time that day, Shawn and Gus were alone together.

For a long time, neither spoke.

"So," said Shawn finally. "Magic."

"Wizards," replied Gus.

"Ghosts."

"Living paintings."

"Zombie horses."

"Please don't remind me of those."

There was a long silence.

"Want to go to bed?" asked Gus.

"Feels like we just did," remarked Shawn.

"I keep hoping things will be better when we wake up," said Gus.

"That does not sound logically possible."

"In light of everything that's happened, that word no longer has a meaning, Shawn."

"Fair point," admitted the detective.

There was another long pause.

"So," said Gus, "any guesses on who's behind it? The murder attempt, I mean."

"I have some suspicions," said Shawn. "Did you hear how some of the Slytherins cheered when they heard Cassandra was going to be gone for a couple weeks? Sounds like they weren't happy about having her around. My guess- and this is just a guess at this point- is that one particular Slytherin got mad at getting a bad grade and decided to take matters into his or her own hands."

Gus considered this.

"You know what, though," said Shawn, "I think you might be right: sleep does sound really good right now. Let's go."

The two headed into the bedroom. Tomorrow was going to be a very interesting day.

* * *

 **A/N: Surprised? Me too! I mean, Golden Keyblade updating twice in the same month, let alone the same couple days? MADNESS! Anyway, I had much of this chapter sitting around on my computer for a while, and I thought it was time I finally posted it. I hope you enjoy. Next chapter we get to see Shawn's first class…and then the investigations begin. Anyone out there got a hypothesis? Feel free to share it! Until then, may destiny's will be swift and just!**


	7. Chapter 6: Shawn's First Class

Chapter 6: Shawn's First Class

 ** _1987_**

 _"_ _Shawn, what the hell are you doing?!"_

 _Henry Spencer didn't know how many times he'd had to ask his son this question, and quite frankly he didn't want to know the answer. He didn't think of himself as a bad father, though he knew Shawn might disagree. He just held his son to a higher standard of discipline than the other boys. After all, if Shawn was to one day follow in his footsteps as a police officer, he'd need to be able to follow the rules, and more importantly to be alert at all times._

 _At the moment, the boy in question was holding a chainsaw and standing over what appeared to be a mannequin, of the kind used for high school biology. It had been sliced in two along the waist, along with the cardboard box it had been inserted through._

 _"_ _Practicing," said Shawn, as if this should be obvious. The kid had a way of making everything he said sound as if it should have been common knowledge. "I'm trying to figure out how to do the magic trick I saw on TV. I found this in the basement and wanted to get it right before I tried it on Gus."_

 _Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Shawn," he said, "bypassing the fact that you somehow got your hands on my chainsaw- and make no mistake, we_ will _talk about that- what you saw on TV was just an illusion. They didn't use just any box; their box had a false surface halfway through so that the woman could curl her legs up inside instead of it going all the way through. Then the guy inserted some plastic legs on the other side, said some silly words, cut the box along the halfway point, and made the audience_ think _the woman's been cut in half."_

 _Shawn looked disappointedly down at the plastic cadaver. "So it wasn't magic?"_

 _Henry's wife had told him many times that patience was key with kids. So he tried being patient. He took his son by the shoulder. "Shawn," he said, "I'm a lot older than you. I've seen a lot of things on the force: really good things, really bad things…but if there's one thing I've learned, and one thing I want you to remember, it's this: there's no such thing as magic."_

 _Shawn nodded. "So…I should go tell Gus the show is cancelled?" he guessed._

 _"_ _Not so fast, Shawn," said Henry. "There's still the matter of you using the chainsaw."_

 _"_ _I won't do it again," said Shawn quickly._

 _"_ _That's all well and good to say," said Henry, "but how do I_ know _you won't do it again?"_

 _"_ _I guess you'll just have to trust me," said Shawn with a smile. "Just like you'll just have to trust me not to tell Mom that you've apparently been using the basement as a target range while we're gone." In response to the obviously surprised look on Henry's face, Shawn added, "There were bullet holes in the mannequin's head._ Honestly _, Dad."_

 _And with that, Shawn strolled off to find Gus, leaving his father staring at the mannequin. After a long moment, Henry grabbed the halves, threw them into the bed of his truck, and headed into the house to get his keys. Better get it to the dump before his wife came home._

* * *

 **Present Day (from the perspective of the narrative, so about 2010)**

Shawn awoke from his dream to find that his watch was beeping. It was 9:30, which meant he had half an hour to prepare for his first class. It also presumably meant he'd missed breakfast; he considered going to find some anyway, but realized a moment later that it wouldn't be necessary. Someone- possibly one of those house elves McGonagall had briefly mentioned- had left a tray of bacon and eggs on his nightstand. Gus had apparently left earlier to go assist those two guys McGonagall had namedropped the previous night.

After quickly devouring said meal, Shawn began looking around for a change of clothes. He soon found that this had also been provided: on a nearby chair lay a pair of men's robes, complete with one of those pointy black wizard hats. Shawn contemplated the robes for about ten seconds, decided his jeans and t-shirt were good enough for the day, and headed into the classroom to prep for the class.

Lying on the only actual desk in the room was a pile of papers, apparently Professor Bennett's class notes. According to them, Shawn was apparently supposed to provide the students with guidance as they worked their way through their section on crystal balls. This, Shawn decided, was most decidedly not something he was ready for.

He picked up a crystal ball absentmindedly. He looked into it for a moment, as if it would reveal to him what he should say about it. Wouldn't that have been helpful? But sadly, the ball was opaque; all that stared back was his own distorted reflection.

Shawn replaced the ball. Time to do what he did best: ad-lib.

* * *

Alexander Cahill, a third-year Hufflepuff whom everyone just called Alex, tapped his foot nervously. This was to be his first day with the new Divinations teacher. To be honest, he didn't much enjoy Divinations. He'd signed up for the class last year, like many other students, without particular knowledge of what it entailed. All he knew was that being able to predict the future sounded fun. As it turned out, however, much of the first half of the year had been spent squinting into tea cups and crystal balls, trying in vain to discern the omens the perpetually twitchy Professor Mills insisted were there. Barely anyone ever saw anything concrete, although a few did fake it from time to time.

Then two days ago, that girl Abby Jones had tried to kill the professor with a shard of glass, then claimed she had no memory of the event. Since then, Abby had refused to leave the dormitory, despite the assurances of friends that they knew she would never do something like that. Alex supposed he couldn't blame her, after what she was being accused of; Professor Mills was the girl's favorite teacher. The idea that Abby could have attacked her was almost unthinkable.

Without warning, the trapdoor opened and the ladder to the Divinations classroom descended. Alex and the other students climbed the ladder into the familiar stuffy room…which was decidedly unstuffy today.

The windows, for the first time in living memory, were open. The heady scent that usually permeated the room, while still present, was far less overwhelming. The fire was burning low, and a cool breeze was blowing in through the windows (Alex still could not get over them being open).

At the front of the class, the source of these changes- Professor Spencer- was sitting on a large cushion, his feet up on a nearby table. He was still wearing the Muggle clothes he had arrived in last night, and he had a huge smile on his face.

"Welcome, class!" he exclaimed. "Take a seat wherever you would like."

The students obediently sat down on the various cushions and armchairs. As they did so, Andy noticed something strange: a small piece of paper, about the size of a Muggle index card, had been placed before each seat. A few students picked up these papers and looked them over; both sides appeared to be completely blank.

"Now then," said Professor Spencer, standing up. "I have been told that I am to continue your education in crystal ball gazing. However, I don't particularly feel like tackling that subject. I am sure Miss Cassandra was doing a fine job tacking that particular…area."

Someone snorted. Shawn's eyes leapt to the source of the noise: a lanky Slytherin boy seated on the cushion nearest the window. Alex rolled his eyes. Of course it would be Adrian. He never had anything positive to contribute to Divinations class. Professor Spencer's eyes briefly flicked over to the boy, and for a moment it seemed as if he were about to dock points. Then he turned back to the class as a whole.

"You may also have been told," he said, "that I prefer to be called Professor Spencer. The people who told you this…are not me. You may call me Shawn. And for the next few weeks, I will be giving you a taste of a branch of divinations you have never experienced before. Welcome to the wonderful world…of phsysics." (He pronounced this last word "fizz-ICE-icks".) "The physics…of psychics."

He gestured to the papers in front of the students. "Can anyone tell me what is before you?" asked Shawn.

Alex raised his hand; Shawn pointed vaguely in his direction. "A…blank piece of paper, profess- er, Shawn?"

"No," said Shawn. "It only _appears_ to be a blank piece of paper. For you see, written on your paper…is a soul message."

"A what?" asked one fifth-year girl?

"A soul message!" exclaimed Shawn. "It is a special message written in enchanted ink. It can be seen only with the inner eye, and only by the one to whom the message is intended. By the end of this class, I intend for each and every one of you to have seen your message."

"That's ridiculous!" interjected Adrian again. He had repositioned himself so as to get maximum visibility for his sneer. "How could you know where we'd all sit before we did?"

Shawn turned around. "What's your name?" he asked.

"You're a psychic," the boy said with a high, nasally laugh. "You tell me!"

Shawn looked at him for a moment. Then he placed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. For a split second Andy thought he saw Shawn's eyes sweep over the boy and his belongings, but it may well have been a trick of the firelight.

"Your name is Adrian Derwood," said Shawn. "You are a fourth-year Slytherin, and I would like to kindly ask you what part of 'psychic' you didn't understand."

Adrian's eyes widened. "How…?" he began.

"Now then!" exclaimed Shawn. "We shall turn…to the paper. I want you all to contemplate on your papers and attempt to see the message. Look for it with all your heart. For you see, only when you know what the message must say…will you be able to perceive it."

"Bit of a rubbish message then," said Adrian, rolling his eyes.

"Okay, that's it," said Shawn. "Adrian, go stand in the corner. Now. Go."

Adrian spluttered for a moment, but Shawn fixed him with a look. Facing the possibility of losing house points, Adrian grumbled to himself, gathered up his stuff, and stormed off the to corner, where he faced the wall and muttered obscenities under his breath.

"Now then," said Shawn, "during the next half-hour, I will attempt to open your mind to these messages. Top phsysicists have long determined that the best way to inspire latent abilities is a sudden flash of inspiration. Therefore, I will be providing you with anecdotes from my own life, in the hopes that my own accomplishment shall be a springboard for your own latent psychic abilities."

And with that, Shawn launched into the single most bizarre story Alex had ever heard.

When asked to recount it afterwards, Alex could not provide anything resembling a plot summary. He wasn't even sure if it HAD a plot. The story started with Shawn's childhood; apparently he had first developed his psychic talents after falling down the stairs and hitting his head. The story moved with breakneck speed through a friend with an Oedipus complex, hot dogs with jelly, Muggle economic difficulties that may or may not have been caused by something Shawn called "video games", stolen socks, prophetic dreams, secret tunnels in a grocery store, impersonating Father Christmas, and a conflict with a tribe of vampires. All the while, Shawn continuously paused to remind the students to focus on their soul messages, in the hopes that the story would awaken latent talent for Divinations.

"Ooh, ooh!" exclaimed an excitable Gryffindor girl whom Alex only vaguely recognized. "I think I saw something, just for a moment!"

"And what do you think it said?" asked Shawn, turning to the girl.

"I…I think it mentioned my gran," said the girl, her eyes suddenly widening, tears starting to form. "She… she passed away over the summer. I think…I think the message is telling me I need to come to terms with it, to move on with my life."

Shawn patted the girl on the shoulder. "That," he said, "is…exactly what I wrote."

The girl looked up at him. "Thank you," she whispered, tears now streaming down her face.

Next to Alex, Leanna Wirth rolled her eyes. She was a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl with whom Alex had become fast friends a couple years back. She was a brilliant student in most classes, which made her poor performance in Divinations all the more frustrating to her. She liked Alex because he was a patient listener to whom she could vent about the many things that tended to frustrate her. Alex liked her because she was witty and always stood up for him against the Slytherins who always seemed to single him out.

Though he would never in a million years admit it, there may also have been the tiniest spark of a crush in there.

At that moment, something starting happened. In a blur of motion, something fell past the open window (which was still something Alex was having trouble processing). It was falling too fast for anyone to see what it was, but it was large. Alex thought maybe it was one of the gargoyles that lined many of the towers' roofs; they had been there for centuries, and some of them were badly in need of repair.

Shawn stopped in his narrative tracks; he had been in the middle of a story about a confrontation with a giant clam. "Did you guys see that?" he asked.

At that moment, there was what sounded like a scream from outside. From the sound of it, Alex figured it was from someone who had narrowly avoided being hit by the gargoyle. Shawn, clearly figuring something similar, strode over to the window and looked out.

When he withdrew his head, his expression had changed. He was no longer the cocky but somehow charming professor who'd been rambling on for the last twenty minutes about his misadventures in California. His expression was now deadly serious.

"Class is dismissed early," he said. "I need to tell the Headmistress about this."

He strode towards the trapdoor, kicked it open, and slid down the ladder. The other students, not quite sure how to take this, stood up and rushed towards the window. They crowded around it, peering down at the fallen object. Some of the younger students started to scream. A few looked like they were going to be sick. Even Adrian looked a tad disturbed by the sight.

Alex, somehow making his way to the front of the crowd, peered out the open window. He looked down at the object which was causing such distress. His eyes went wide. "Oh dear God," he whispered.

From this angle, the object which had fallen from the roof was clearly visible on the grass at the base of the tower.

It was not a gargoyle.

It was the body of Abigail Jones.

* * *

 **A/N: What the hell, I needed to update SOMETHING. Chew on that cliffhanger for a while; I'mma go write the new _ΔX_ chapter. **

**Also, for those who haven't seen the show, this isn't the first time Shawn has lectured on phsysics. The first time was in the _Psych_ episode "If You're So Smart Then Why Are You Dead". Incidentally, _Psych_ has the absolute best episode titles. Ever. Of all time. **


	8. Chapter 7: After the Fall

Chapter 7: After the Fall

By the time Shawn made it down to the grounds, a crowd had formed around the base of the Divinations tower. Clearly other classes had seen the girl fall and had gone to investigate.

"SHAWN!"

Shawn turned to see that Gus was storming angrily towards him. "Gus!" he exclaimed. "Where've you been?"

"Where have I BEEN?!" Gus looked incredulous. "Shawn, I've been working all morning! First I was on cleaning duty with the caretaker, Filch! Have you met Filch? He's terrifying! Kept muttering about rule breakers, and whenever I made a mistake he looked at me like he was planning to put me on a torture rack! Oh, and do you know where we were cleaning? _The dungeons_! This castle has DUNGEONS, Shawn!"

"Well, of course it does," said Shawn. "What kind of self-respecting castle doesn't have a dungeon?"

"Oh," added Gus, "and when we'd done that for an hour, I got dragged off to the grounds to work with the groundskeeper, Hagrid. Great guy, but he's got me taking care of these...things! Did you know there's a giant squid in the lake?!"

"How would I have known that?" asked Shawn.

"Well I do!" Gus exclaimed. "I FED it! Do you know what a giant squid eats?! Neither do I! I just had this bucket of pink stuff that I had to feed it!"

"Look, Gus," said Shawn, "I feel you, but right now we've got to focus. There's been a murder."

Gus blinked. "There has?"

Shawn gestured towards the crowd of students. "A girl, looks to be a Hufflepuff," he said. "She fell right past my window."

"How do you know it was a murder?" asked Gus as the two began walking towards the crowd. "If she fell, that sounds more like a suicide."

"She started screaming towards the end," said Shawn. "Generally when someone makes the decision to jump, they don't scream."

"Maybe she changed her mind," suggested Gus. "Maybe she decided halfway down she didn't want to go through with it."

Shawn shook his head. "Typically people who jump off a tower aren't exactly easy to dissuade," he said.

"So you think she was pushed?" asked Gus.

Shawn continued to shake his head. "But that doesn't make sense either," he said. "She would have been screaming all the way down. Why only at the end?"

"Beats me," said Gus. "Let's go ask McGonagall."

McGonagall had by this point managed to direct the attention of all the students to her. "Attention students!" she called. "I know we are all quite upset by what has happened, but I must insist that you remain calm. I can assure you that we are doing everything in our power to investigate what has happened."

"What if someone killed her?!" shouted a high-pitched first year girl near the back.

"Not likely!" shouted a muscular Gryffindor boy closer to Shawn. "She probably jumped herself! I bet she couldn't bear the thought of what she tried to do to Professor Mills!"

The crowd erupted with murmuring.

" _Be quiet, everyone!_ " shouted McGonagall. Instantly, the crowd fell silent. McGonagall, Shawn had long ago realized, was a force to be reckoned with. "At the moment we have reason to believe that Miss Jones' death was nothing more than a tragic accident. We will be making a formal announcement at the feast tonight; until then, I ask you to remain indoors and away from the Divinations tower until we are finished investigating. Your Heads of House will escort you back to class."

Gradually the students began to file away as Professors Sprout, Flitwick, Slughorn, and Charleston began to lead them back to class. McGonagall strode up to Shawn and Gus; now that she was done directing the students, a bit of the wind seemed to have drained out of her.

"Tell me you have some answers," she said. It was not a request.

"We'll have to examine the body first," said Shawn; he felt Gus wince slightly behind him. "But before that, I need you to tell me what happened before we got here. Who was the first to arrive on the scene?"

"That would be Professor Flitwick," said McGonagall. "He saw Miss Jones fall from the second floor of the Charms tower; he and his students rushed down as quickly as they could to investigate. They couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes to get there."

"Wait, back up," said Gus. "Jones? As in, Abby Jones? The girl who attacked the teacher? The whole reason we're here?"

"That is correct," said McGonagall. "Do you think the two events are linked?"

"The question isn't whether the events are linked," said Shawn. "The question is _how_ they're linked. Did she commit suicide over what she allegedly did...or is the real culprit trying to cover their tracks?"

McGonagall seemed to shudder ever-so-slightly at this. "I never thought I'd have to see something like this again," she murmured. "Not after he was defeated..." Then suddenly she was laser focused again. "I don't think I have to remind you that this matter should be treated with the utmost secrecy," she said. "You are to speak to no one about your investigation, or even to let them know that you _are_ investigating. Is that clear?"

Shawn and Gus both nodded nervously. The way she looked at them reminded them uncomfortably of being kids again and facing off against Shawn's dad.

"Very well," said McGonagall. "I will allow you to examine the body before we...move it." Her voice seemed to shake ever so slightly on the last word, but it might well have been Shawn's imagination.

Shawn and Gus turned in unison and walked up to the body. They looked down at the figure that, until half an hour earlier, had been a young witch walking around the castle like any other student. Shawn tried to discern something from the pose; occasionally it was possible to tell whether the victim had been pushed or jumped from the way their body lay. Unfortunately, this was not one of those cases; the girl simply lay face-down, her arms at odd angles, her long hair splayed out before her.

"So what do you think?" asked Gus. "WAS it suicide?"

"I don't know," admitted Shawn. "There are no signs of a struggle, so she wasn't _physically_ pushed off the tower. But something just doesn't add up about this. If she really wasn't guilty, why would she kill herself?"

"Maybe she couldn't handle the stress," suggested Gus. "What she did was too much for her to bear, and everyone getting mad at her over it couldn't have helped."

Shawn didn't look convinced. "I mean, maybe," he said. "But the scream is what's getting to me. Why would she only start screaming halfway down? Either she would have been screaming the whole time or she wouldn't have screamed at all."

"You can't know that, Shawn," said Gus, glaring at his friend; Shawn rather suspected that this was one of those times he was being insensitive without realizing it. "Like I said, maybe she was having second thoughts."

"Or," said Shawn, "maybe there was something keeping her from screaming until then."

"Like what?"

"Well," said Shawn, "like whatever it was that made her attack Professor Mills in the first place."

Gus's eyes widened. "You mean she was mind-controlled into jumping?!" he exclaimed in alarm.

"It's a possibility I haven't ruled out," said Shawn grimly. "This is wizard country, after all."

Gus looked nauseous. "I think I need some air," he said.

"We're outside," pointed out Shawn.

"I'm going down to the lake," said Gus. "Then with my luck, Hagrid will probably want more help. I'll see you at dinner, Shawn."

Shawn nodded. As Gus walked away, he turned back to the body of Abigail Jones. The idea that something like this was possible- that someone in this castle had just used magic to make a teenage girl kill herself- made him want to get right back on the train and go straight back to London. But McGonagall had contacted him to solve this case, and that was what he intended to do.

The first matter, he decided, should be to interview the students who had known Abigail. He needed to figure out who she had been in contact with, what she had been doing recently, and most importantly if she had any enemies. To do that, he'd need to interview some students.

He walked back to McGonagall. "I have an idea on how to investigate this without arousing suspicion," he said. "But I'll need you to make an announcement at the feast tonight."

"I had better like this, Mister Spencer," said McGonagall, seeming to stare right through his face.

Shawn told her his idea. She didn't like it. But with some persuading, she agreed it was the best option for investigating while remaining undetected. She headed off towards the castle, claiming that she needed to make preparations for their investigation.

Shawn was about to leave when he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye. He turned back towards the body. For the first time, he noticed that Abigail Jones had apparently still been carrying a leather book bag when she died; the bag now lay on the ground beside her, its flap hanging slightly open.

"Now that's odd," he remarked quietly. "Who brings their book bag with them to commit suicide?"

Bending down to examine the bag, he promptly got another surprise: the bag was empty of books. The only contents were an ink bottle, now smashed, some thoroughly stained pieces of parchment, and a few feather quills of the sort Shawn had seen students using to take notes in his class. Looking around, he saw that a few of the pages were now several feet away, blowing away in the breeze, weighed down by the coating of ink. But with the way the bag had fallen, there was no way the pages could have gotten free, let alone blown away in the wind.

Unless...

Shawn placed his pointer fingers on his temples and closed his eyes, as if trying to psychically divine the answer; this didn't actually do anything, but it was a habit built up over four years, plus it helped him concentrate. If the pages were loose, that meant they had gotten out somehow. The bag was partly pinned down by Abigail, and the flap was facing downwards and too heavy for the wind to lift; that meant that at some point some force had removed the pages from the bag. It couldn't have opened during the fall; if that were the case, either all the contents would have fallen out or they would have been pinned in the bag, depending on how she fell. That meant that at someone or something had opened the bag's flap, and in the process the pages had come loose.

 _But that doesn't make sense_ , said Shawn. _Why would someone open an empty book bag just to remove some blank pages? Unless..._

Unless, he realized, the bag _hadn't_ been empty at the time.

Possibilities spun through his mind. If the bag had had more contents when Abby fell, and if someone had removed it afterwards, then it would make sense that the flap had been opened. The object must have been pretty large- large enough that, when the third party attempted to remove it, they couldn't get it out without pulling out the papers along with it. And seeing as this was a book bag, a book would be the most logical thing to store in it.

 _But who would want to steal a book from a dead girl?_ Shawn wondered. _And more importantly, what exactly was in that book?_

He stood. Some details were starting to align, but at this point it was still too early to draw any conclusions, or even name a suspect. He turned and headed back to the castle; he had a lot of things to think about.

* * *

 **A/N: Alright, welcome to the first chapter of this story since Meer-Katnip (previously TheBigCat) took over as co-author! While she didn't make too many edits to this chapter, she's really making a difference in some of the other projects and I'm having an absolute blast working with her! She DID contribute the title of this chapter, which I was absolutely stumped on, and correct some grammatical mistakes throughout.**

 **Incidentally, I'm really sorry- both to you guys and to Kitty- that I haven't been writing much. Between my homework load, an ongoing case of writer's block, and dealing with something of an existential crisis about a week ago, I haven't really been in the writing mood recently. But the good news is that that's changing, and hopefully more content will be coming out soon-ish. Until then, R &R! **


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